Last Man Standing
by rocknrollneverforgets
Summary: Jon Snow recalls childhood memories, leading to the painful realisation that he and his family have gone their separate ways. Post A Storm Of Swords.


**Disclaimer: **GRRM owns everything.

"Last one to Heart tree is a craven!" Robb yelled, and immediately, we were all running. We were kids; that's what we _did. _We played our silly little games and we were oblivious to anything around us. Even as a bastard, I had little concern for wars or kings. The only thought in my mind at that age was how much activity I could pack into a day before I passed out from exhaustion.

I remember that day well. I remember running like the wind. Well, I couldn't have Robb calling me a craven now, could I? I was faster than him, I knew it, and I knew I could win. I just had to watch where my feet were going. Of course, Sansa and Arya had joined in too, but childish arrogance made me pay no mind to them. _They're just babes, _I had thought.

_You idiot._

I was quick, and my reflexes were honed to a point sharper than my Father's greatsword. I leaped over the tree roots, dodged under the branches, sidestepped through the thorns. I was going to win, I knew it. There wasn't much I could beat the trueborn Starks in, but this was something. And I wasn't going to let it slip through my fingers.

I came to the tree, and froze solid. They were already there. Sansa and Arya, laughing and giggling, most likely at the look on my face. They'd beaten me. And I'd been so sure that I would win.

Obviously now, it seems such a tiny thing to get upset over. But to a child… well, less so. I don't remember what I had wanted to prove that day, or if I'd even known it then. But I do remember that crushing feeling when I realised I'd lost. Lost to the trueborn children, the _real Stark's. _It was something I was used to, I suppose.

Of course, I didn't take it out on my sisters. I laughed and ruffled Arya's hair and said '_well done little sister'. _When Robb puffed up to the tree, we all laughed at his look of incredulity, and his indignant expression when our Father explained that Sansa and Arya had been clever enough to ask for a ride on his horse. By the time we were home, I'd forgotten all about my desperation to be the champion.

But you can take away the memories, the specifics, all of it. You can't get rid of the feeling. You can't get rid of the feeling of disappointment and not being good enough. I lived with that feeling my entire childhood. Oft, I still live with it now. I command perhaps the last honourable group of protectors in Westeros, and sometimes I still feel unwanted.

However, I never used to dwell on those feelings. Yes, there were times as a child were I cried over my lack of a Mother, or Lady Stark's unkind remarks to me, but those times were far outweighed by the times I _wasn't _crying.

Let it be said I had no place in Winterfell, that it was not my home. But sometimes, it felt like it. When Robb and I were sprinting around the battlements, re-enacting the stories of old, I wasn't Jon Snow anymore. I was Jon Stark. When Arya and I were laughing together at her latest attempt at stitching, I was never a bastard. Even when I was showing Bran how to hold a sword properly in the training yard, I was content. The Starks were my family, and I would not have traded them for the world.

But you know what happens next.

I got myself a new family, one significantly less inclined towards silly swordfights and races through the woods. I accepted that I was never a Stark, and now I'm Jon Snow, 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. It's a huge honour. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't trade any of it- all of it- in a second- to have my family back.

But again, you know what happens next.

First my Father, executed for treason I _know _he would never commit. His death took my hopes and dreams with him, my dreams of finding my Mother, and discovering who I was. He was innocent man. A good, just, loyal man, with honour as high as the skies.

He didn't deserve to die.

They didn't tell me much about the events in the South. I know Sansa stayed to wed Joffrey, her prince. I would not wish that on her. Even from the short time I knew him, Joffrey was not someone I ever wished to entrust my safety to. Sansa could have faced a fate worse than death, as his Queen. But I also know that Joffrey died. I have never been told what may or may not have happened to my sister. Or my half-sister, as Sansa would say.

She may be dead. I doubt I will ever know.

Arya was my salvation in Winterfell. She understood me, and I her. We stood together. And I have no idea what became of her. No one ever gave me any news of her. She is most likely dead. Not that I ever would've seen her again anyway. But sometimes, I think of the fate that may have befallen her, and it is difficult to keep myself calm. _Little sister, _I want to say, and ruffle her hair. _I've missed you, little sister._

Bran and Rickon. I was angry on that discovery. Bran, a child, and Rickon, scarcely more than a babe, dead. And the worst thing? By someone they'd known, by someone they'd _trusted. _

I never liked Theon Greyjoy. I found him vulgar and idiotic, and he thought a bastard not to be worthy of his time. Good riddance, I say. But the mild dislike I felt for him back then is nothing compared to now. The burning hatred that courses through me, it's terrifying. Never before had I been so furious, so scared. If Starks can't survive through the winter, what chance does a Snow have?

And the last one, that broke something. You know exactly who I mean. You know what happened, most likely better than me.

What they did to my brother was abominable. It's the first time I'd cursed someone and truly meant it. He was only sixteen.

Sixteen was older than me though. He was my big brother. He looked out for me, and I looked out for him too. We were equals.

Robb wasn't perfect. He didn't give up his lordship in protest of my treatment. He didn't offer to share half of his lands. I didn't expect him too. He treated me like his real brother, and that was enough for me. I forgave him when he boasted of his future titles, forgave him when he was angry or upset and made hurtful comments about my bastardry. That's what brothers do; they forgive each other.

I could trust my brother, and he could trust me; we would never betray each other. But that's how he died, isn't it? Betrayal.

He didn't deserve that.

He was the best friend I ever had, and he deserved to live much longer than I. He was a king, a champion, a husband. He had so much to live for. I still hold firmly on to the belief that he would've been a good king. A good husband. A good Father.

But now, the race to the heart tree is over, and look who's left standing. I'll give you a clue: _It's not a Stark. _It's a Snow, which comes as quickly as a blizzard in the winter. I finally have that victory, I've finally proved, whatever it was that I wanted to prove.

_And I don't want it. _

I want my family. And I'd give anything for that.


End file.
